Three Brothers
by Laughing Wulfric Before the fall of Britta. Before the coming of the Thule. My brothers and I were born in Leoding Hall. It was founded long ago by a man named Leodulf the Taker. He set himself in land that was, at the time, on the very edge of where men had settled. He stood on that ground and declared that it was his, should the barbarians care to dispute it they could argue with his axe. Our blood flows back to that man. Our father could trace the path of our ancestors back to Leodulf himself and sometimes when drunk he would do just that. Our father was Steiner, our mother Kallavesi and they argued like a storm. They loved like a hurricane. Three of us they brought to the world. Three sons. Wulfric, Jussi and Osric. We had a fine childhood. Though they were tempestuous with each other they were gentle enough with us when needed. Fierce enough, when needed. In time we became men and chose our path and tradition. Wulfric to the Kallavesi, travelling to the swamps to learn the ways of the skein and flows of magic. However my temperament has, perhaps, more of our father than our mother and find myself more comfortable on the field of battle than as a counsellor of the skein. Jussi choose the tradition of the Steiner and embraced the crafts of healing swearing and living by his Grimnir oath. His cautious soul would often lead to him checking and rechecking details, always seeking to confirm that we were prepared and ready. There were times this was a great aggravation to us but his Vigilance often kept us from harm. Osric embraced the path of the Steiner and followed our father’s nature with devotion. Growing in strength each year he is a bold and fierce warrior. His personal skill is matched by his shrewd tactics and several times he has lead Sigehold into battle. The fall of Leoding Hall was announced by the blizzard. We did not know at the time that it was the Thule’s magic at work, only that it was sudden, sharp and ferocious. While unusual, such fury from the sky was not unheard of and we prepared for the cold and snow not for attack. They came like thieves, like shadows at first, their scout sliding through the white swirls to silence word of their approach. Then like an avalanche, in numbers we could not count, their husks leading the way and butchering everything before them with icy precision. I remember clearly our Thane gathering the warriors and decreeing who would stay to extract a blood price for our land, who would go to warn other halls, try to rally a defence. I remember my father’s savage scowl, my mother’s snarl of rage. We do not know where their bones now lie but we know their blood was spilt into the ground and now runs in the rivers and streams. History tells the tale of how our land fell; I will not dwell on it. For our part we were driven ever back from the invaders, never able to stand. We would have welcomed a good death but Osirc’s Wisdom would not sell our lives cheaply. The debt of vengeance we owed to the Thule was too great. We gathered other survivors and warriors to us, formed small bands to hunt and hurt the Thule wherever we could. In time we met with Ardith and joined with her happy to find a banner that still flew. When Skarsind was reclaimed we travelled back to where Leoding hall had stood. Nothing remained but charred beams and scattered stones, every sign of the place broken or spoiled by barbarian malice. Sigehold is our home now. A new family made strong by our shared pain, our shared defeats, our shared victory.